


Divine Sight

by messier31



Category: Babblebrook (Web Series)
Genre: Dream Sequence, Gen, Goodnight Moon ASMR - Freeform, basically me just guessing what the next part of the story's gonna be, i'm bad at tags idk, witchy stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 07:19:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19436608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/messier31/pseuds/messier31
Summary: Seeking wisdom, the Willow Witch attempts a risky potion to gain insight into the coming days.





	Divine Sight

**Author's Note:**

> "maybe persimmon will be our always."
> 
> this one ended up being in my WIP folder for months but i finally managed to get it out. enjoy! 
> 
> working title: an acid trip with the willow witch. ;)

The night was still. 

Somewhere nearby, barely-perceptible wings fluttered; a moment later Díon landed in the open window, silent and elegant as a spirit. His creamy feathers glowed warmly in the candlelight, the browns, bronzes and tans of his wings dappled with shadow and pale fire. 

Watched by the owl, the Willow Witch made rounds through her cozy cottage, weaving through tables stacked high with parchment-bound books; long, elevant tendrils of a curious-looking vine, glowing silvery-green in the firelight; and high, wooden shelves, stocked with every manner of vials, each filled with a different shimmering, bubbling potion or delicate dried herb. Every so often, she paused, searching the glassy bottles, occasionally selecting one and returning it to the large table that filled the centre of the cottage. 

A cone of incense; two glittering crystals, one rough and sky blue, the other glossy and midnight black; bottles, a basketful, a dozen or more, of all shapes and colors; a small, tied bundle of pale canvas. They joined the still-growing pile of ingredients on the vast oak table. 

Finally, Willow paused, scanning the room for anything she may have forgotten, before crossing to the massive bureau against the far wall of the cottage. She pulled out a tiny silver key, hidden on a delicate chain, and bent down to unlock the low drawer. Reaching deep inside, she felt around carefully until she found and pulled out a small velvet satchel.

In a smooth motion, she opened the pouch and removed its contents: a tiny bottle, about the size of her pinkie, as black as Belladonna’s glittering eyes when she’d requested it in person, and as poisonous as her sister’s laughter as she’d shut the door behind her and started on the long walk home. With care, she set the vial aside. 

Drawing a nearby candle closer, the Willow Witch reached, bringing the bundle of white sage to the flame, letting the fire lick up the dry leaves as delicate, fragrant smoke began floating in the air. 

_ Negativity of this sacred space _

_ I banish you by the light of my grace. _

_ You have no strength or power here; _

_ I stand and face you with no fear. _

_ Be gone forever; you will obey _

_ From this sacred space you must away. _

She smudged the smouldering sage gently in a dish, breathing in the [sage smells] that now filled the room. There was a certain calm, now, in the room, with just her and Díon, protected in the glowing firelight by the [scent of sage smoke]. She could sense only good energy here. 

She’d need it. 

_ One more thing _ , she thought,  _ before I start. _ She stood and carefully locked the door to her cottage- an unusual action for her, certainly, but she would be… unavailable for the rest of the night. She blew out several candles on her way back to the big table, leaving the room in shadow except for a small crescent of golden-warm light. 

She brought the sweet, potent incense to the candle nearest to her, feeling the cone catch and begin to smoulder as floral smoke filled the air. Aromatic lavender, frankincense and jasmin, sweet and light yet powerful nonetheless, filled her lungs. 

With the incense prepared, she set to work mixing the various ingredients she’d gathered- pouring potions with care, watching the colors shimmer and shift as the magic began to work. She ground mugwort and root of valerian in the mortar before carefully measuring and adding them to the potion. A dash of sage, a scoop of dried pillowmoss, and pollen from a single honeyblosson were all mixed with care as the potion took shape. 

The fragrance from the incense was heavy now, the delicate curls of smoke wafting high into the rafters of her cottage, mingling among crystals and dried herbs. 

Willow opened the very last vial- the small, inky-black tube from Nightshade- and held it above the potion. She paused for a moment, her pale hand poised to drip the acrid flitterwisp extract into the potion, and took a deep breath.  _ There’s no going back now _ . 

In one swift movement, she tipped the vial into the glass crucible and watched in awe as, in an instant, the precious, shimmering drops of flitterwisp came in contact with the ocean-blue potion, flashing brilliant crimson before dissolving in a cloud of miniscule, pearly bubbles. The pearlescence spread outwards and upwards, working up the sides of the crucible. As it reached the top, glittering, twinkling particles- like the tiniest fireflies, or the flash of distant stars- started to rise from from the potion, dancing into the air and drifting away. 

She inhaled deeply, feeling very much like a sick child breathing in the warm broth of a soup, and the familiar thought tempered her fears. Again and again, she drew in breath, taking the tiny, cool sparks with her. 

She could already feel the effects of the potion starting to set in- sparks danced across her skin- and she had the most curious sensation of falling backwards, even while still in her chair. The world seemed to pull towards her- away from her- and the sparks were more intense now, almost painful, overwhelming every nerve in her body with feeling. 

She blinked- and her eyes responded too slowly- and blinked again- the world spun around her- and she had the strong sensation of moving up and away, zooming out of her cottage and into the darkness above-

She blinked again-

-and the dazzling spill of a clear night sky unfolded before her. 

~~~

She’d tried to prepare herself, this time around. The first time Willow had tried Divine Sight, the loss of her physical form had almost been too much. She’d panicked, gasping for air, only panicking more when none reached her lungs- for her lungs were not there, and she could not satisfy herself by breathing. The visions, too- the very reason she’d even risked making Divine Sight, risked dirtying her magic, risked her very existence- had frightened her so, with their towering apparitions and disorienting sounds and images, so much whirling around all at once. 

Closing her eyes provided some solace, if only temporary, but she used the precious moment to accustom herself with the new, strange feelings. It was like, she’d tried to explain to a frightened though amused Clover after the first journey, like floating naked in a river, but you couldn’t tell where your body ended and the sky started. 

After some time, she felt strong enough to open her eyes once more. Her stomach still flip-flopped with nervousness- or at least, what she imagined to be her stomach, anyways- but slowly she looked. The moon, almost full, just beginning to wane, was the first thing she saw now. 

It was a gift, allowing her to anchor herself. She was here, and the moon was there, and the world slowly stopped spinning around her. 

There- the forest spilled out around her cottage, and Briar Lake glowed silver in the moonlight just beyond. Scattered lights showed the direction of Falkirk Farms a short distance away, and she could just see- beyond the great Glanham Mountains- a sparkle of light. Harbington. 

She drifted, away from her home, over the mountains, and the town slowly pulled itself into focus before her: Clover’s greenhouse, the inn, the shops and markets and farms, all still seeming very small, like a child’s dollhouse miniatures. 

From Harbington, as she looked out, Willow could see- just on the horizon, almost entirely out of sight- the brilliant lights of Lancaster, softened to a faint white glow on the edge of the sky. 

Knowing that Deirdre was there, practically within sight, sent an icy blade to her soul. She left herself drift back, out of sight of Lancaster and Harbington and the inn, back over the mountains, soaring ever higher, feeling some invisible tether pull her back over her cottage, back to the moon and the forest and the lake of silver. 

She was ready. 

The words fell from her mouth, hesitant at first before gaining motion and purpose. 

_ Grant mine eyes for which I seek _

_ Taking power in these words I speak _

_ Protect mine soul as I embark _

_ On this quest into the dark _

_ Spirits of the night,  _

_ I bid thee for thy guiding light.  _

_ I seek the knowledge of the divine.  _

_ The knowledge of the blessed mind.  _

_ I bid thee for thy guiding light.  _

She could sense it coming; like an oncoming storm, she felt it on the horizon. 

Again. I _ bid thee for thy guiding light. _ Again, again, again.  _ I bid thee for thy guiding light. I bid thee for thy guiding light... _

Soon, just like last time, it started with the fog. Blotting out the moon, it seemed to come not from the sky, but from herself, spreading around her like grey ink in water until even the last sliver of night sky was obscured. 

The comfortable silence of the night was gone; in its place, a whispering, a murmur, always just out of comprehension, constant yet always changing. The spirits were with her. 

_Spirits._ _Show me what I seek to know, what I yearn to understand, what I bid to perceive_ …

Her voice seemed tiny, impossibly weak, just another ghostly whisper. She did not fail to realize how close she was in the moment to becoming nothing but a disembodied spirit, a meaningless murmur of a voice, little more than a gentle breeze. 

The plea echoed, passing through the spirits as the repeated it amongst themselves, deciding whether to show her what she desired or let her words become simply another empty whisper among infinite others.

_ Spirits spirits spirits seek seek seek seek stand stand stand stand bid bid bid bid ceive ceive ceive spirits spirits spirits sk sk sk sk sk  _

All around her, like voices in a cave- disembodied whispers, the very ghosts of her own words. Chills spilled across her head and shoulders, prickling her scalp and creeping down her back, as the murmurs grew faster and more distorted, her voice morphing into little more than clicks and hisses- the sound was still growing, louder and stronger- she pulled her hands to her ears, knowing it would do nothing as the noises grew ever louder and more insistent, unending waves of inhuman sound.

The noise was tangible- the noise was going to swallow her spirit whole, like a creature from the deep- she was going to be tangled up, engulfed, completely blanketed by the layers of otherworldly noise around her- she’d make a terrible mistake-

But just as it seemed to reach a breaking point- just as she felt she couldn’t last any longer- the noise resolved, like muddy water settling, and the harsh sounds gradually resolved into the disembodied murmurs of before. 

_ “We… will… grant… you… what… you… seek…” _ came the voices, hissing their consensus in echoey unison. 

And then the Willow Witch was plunged backwards into shadowy darkness once more. 

~~~

Like fragments of a half-forgotten dream, the visions floated across her consciousness. Each uncertain, simply sounds and sights without context, wisps of a barely-known future. 

_ A campfire, dim and weak, and the sound of crickets in the woods. A light mist on her face, and the smell of damp earth.  _

_ A massive stone bridge, with people rushing hurriedly around and over it, surrounded by mist and with the smell of wet stone heavy in the air _

_ The creaking of a ship's timbers, and a bronze lantern swinging in the corner of a narrow berth. Golden light spills through the tiny cabin, and the play of light and shadow pulls sleep over her eyes…  _

_ Thousands of voices, thousands of stories: the voices of other travellers, muffled, rough, the clanging of a bell, and the squealing and calling of seabirds somewhere in the distance. _

_ A sketch of her sister, dark eyes peering out from parchment, torn down swiftly and shoved into a satchel.  _

_ Her face stinging, and touching her cheek. Her finger coming back, warm with shining crimson blood.  _

_ Footfalls, marching, heavy and approaching in the night. _

Evangeline felt herself whipped from vision to vision with increasing speed, breathless, tossed like a leaf in a windstorm. There was a sense of urgency now, as though the potion had something important- desperate- to tell her. 

_ The Shadeseeker, moving much faster than it should, her favorite traveler nowhere in sight behind it.  _

_ Slender, bejeweled fingers delicately petting a cool-eyed silver cat. _

_ Glittering white light, a massive chamber, vaulted ceilings reaching up to the heavens, and a terrible feeling of foreboding…  _

_ A conversation- quiet voices, fragments of sentences- she strained to hear, but to little avail- _

_ "On behalf of beldams,"  _

_ "...just a traveler," _

_ "no, your majesty..." _

_ A quill, gliding across parchment, glittering black ink, the soft scratch of the nib, and a certain sense of unease.  _

_ A shrill laugh, a hand on the sheath of a dagger.  _

_ Fear- running- persecution- she was hunted, a fox running from hounds, crushing panic closing in her throat-  _

_ A crossroads: a path to certain safety, a path to victory, and a path to crushing defeat. Hesitation. Which path was which? Which would she choose? Which would the traveller choose? The thunder of footsteps was closing, and her time was running out… Which path? Which path? Which path?  _

Her eyes were damp, her heart racing, her body heavy, and she was back in her cabin once more. Warm light bathed her body, so very different from the coolness of the moonlight. Her mouth was dry, her hands shaking, but she was very much alive, very much in her own body, very much of her soul and spirit. 

Dion perched quietly, watching her with his round, eternally dark eyes. He hooted softly in hello when he saw his weary companion looking back, rustling his feathers and stirring before tucking his head under his wing. 

She sat very still, slumped in the same chair she’d started in, and tried to focus on her breathing, calming herself, getting her energy back in order. The first time she’d tried Divine Sight it had nearly destroyed her- she’d gotten too sucked in, carried away like a ripcurrent, and watched in horror as fragile hairline cracks had begun to work their way across the very fabric of her aura, spiderwebbing and spreading, and she had thought she was done, that she had doomed herself. It had taken days for her to recover her strength enough to even attempt a simple incantation, and weeks for the damage to her spirit to recover. 

And so she meditated, focusing on healing, on control. She was in charge of her magic. Her magic did not control her. She was in control. She had control. 

Only when she felt confident that she would not shatter like a dropped vase did she divide her focus, allowing herself to process what she’d just seen. This was the most difficult part, she mused, for time was malleable. Divine Sight was no promise, just a glimpse of a possibility. If she had chosen any other night, if any circumstances varied, what she could have seen might have been entirely different. And time by no means had to obey what she had seen- she had never even imagined the arrival of the traveller when she’d first used Divine Sight. Surprises like that were to be expected. 

And so, over a mug of mundanely-prepared tea, she sat and thought. 

It seemed that, for most of the journey, her sister’s plan remained sound- go to Agramar, catch a boat, arrive in Lancaster, and seek court with Diedre. But something along the way went awry, and time itself had split into little more than possibilities open to the traveller. 

One path led to an escape, an easy out from the trouble- a path away from Harbington and into an uncertain future. 

One path led to a victory, with great risk and greater reward. 

And she was certain that the final path led to destruction, loss, disaster.

_ Oh, my Belladonna, my dear traveller. Whatever did you get yourselves into?  _

The lone candle had burned nearly to her table, and the first lights of dawn were beginning to peek above the mountains, the sky blushing the faintest pink on the horizon. A new day was beginning. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> a million thanks to @colby2315, who helped me a TON on this one. she came up with most of the Divine Sight incantation, as well as several of the visions Willow experiences. 
> 
> while i came up with nearly everything on my own or with colby, credit must be given as credit is due; the cleansing incantation is from http://blog.shamansmarket.com/5-simple-prayers-use-cleansing-space/. 
> 
> erin, if you're reading this, ILY; also, please do a makeup tutorial for your mermaid character. i used the "grwm: nightshade" as a tutorial for my halloween costume last year and i'd love to be the mermaid this year. 
> 
> alright i love anyone in our tiny fandom who reads this xoxoxo


End file.
